


Maybe we are(n't) meant to be

by solarisensun



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Haikyuu!! AU Week, Jealousy, Lemon, Manga & Anime, Mentioned Suna Rintarou, Pining Miya Atsumu, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29099370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarisensun/pseuds/solarisensun
Summary: He may be the menace from hell but you are the fool that keeps running back to those iron wrought gates.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader, Suna Rintarou & Reader, Suna Rintarou/Original Female Character(s), Suna Rintarou/Reader
Kudos: 79





	Maybe we are(n't) meant to be

**Author's Note:**

> TW: toxic relationship, college AU, alcohol consumption, brief Atsumu x reader, Suna + reader don't know how to deal with their own emotions

You didn’t think that it would _hurt_ this badly. **  
**

Even through the jostling crowd of bodies and the dim lighting occasionally illuminated by a swathe of neon colours your view is startlingly - annoyingly clear. Suna Rintarou, his dark head bent over the girl’s exposed neck and her hot pink nails buried in those black locks. 

  
The music picks up it’s heated pace and try as hard as you might, you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the way she grinds into him in perfect timing to the song as it crawls to a climax. And it’s because you’re watching her figure pressed against Suna so intently that you don’t miss the way his large hand (the one not propped on her waist) smooths it way under the hem of her scandalously short skirt as her eyes flutter at the sensation. 

The way her legs widen to hook around his ankles don’t go lost to your limited view too. 

Fucking hell. 

You recognize the chick too, that unmistakable dirty blonde hair you see out the corner of your eye in nearly every class. She seats exactly two chairs away from you and has a habit of playing her music through her earphones just a tad bit too loud. But now, you wouldn’t be able to see anything but her body pressed heatedly against Suna’s each time her figure appears in your vision…

Bitterly, you can’t help but wonder if he picked her on purpose, of all the females in the party that he could have, he just had to cozy up with a mutual friend. 

It’s none of your business, none of your business, _none_ of your fucking business if he has his tongue shoved down another girl’s throat or if he plans bring her to warm his bed later on. _It’s absolutely none of your business._

But the pain that blossoms in your chest when she draws him closer tells a different story. 

You were the one who broke things off. You remind yourself with another determined sip of cheap beer. Though you doubt that there was even anything in the first place.

Suna Rintaro, the walking breathing definition of a heartbreaker. One crooked grin paired with that lazy narrow of his mesmerizing eyes had you accepting his offer to somewhere ‘quieter’ until you found yourself tangled in his sheets, gasping for air as his fingers wrapped around your throat whilst he pounded you into a whining mess and hazy smoke of pleasure billowing out of his mouth when he curls his lips. 

He may be the menace from hell but you were the fool that kept running back to those iron wrought gates. 

At least until last week when you began ignoring his rare texts and avoiding him entirely on campus. 

It’s for the better good you console yourself at another 3am ice cream binge. No more heartache over a boy that wouldn’t even _look_ at you when the two of you crossed paths in the hallway. 

There was still a tiny spark of blind hope that you couldn’t squash. Maybe he’d come looking for you, maybe he would stop fooling around with his harem and choose you. Instead, eerie silence was the only thing that greeted you since you cut off contact with him. 

What had you been expecting anyway? For him to come knocking at your door with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers? The thought alone nearly makes you snort. 

It had been a good decision to cut things off, being with him was dangerous, the way every little thing about him made you fall deeper, harder. The adrenaline that pumps in your blood when he grabs your hand in his, mixed with desire and the recklessness of despair that made your blood sing each time your lips connected. 

There were the quiet moments too. When the morning sun weaves his hair light brown and the sharp contours of his face are softened by the dreamy golden rays streaming through the window; his voice, raspy and heavy around the edges with sleep as Suna wraps his hands around your waist because _“Your 8am lecture isn’t important”_. It’s these little occasions where your treacherous heart becomes greedier, when the seconds bleed into minutes then hours and you find that you want it to last an eternity instead. 

But a tiger cannot change its stripes. 

Gingerly, you wipe away the condensation that has gathered on your palm against your shirt as you readjust your clumsy grip. The music has morphed into something wilder now, the throng of swaying bodies doubles in response until your view is swallowed up in a wave of limbs. 

You jolt in surprise when something heavy descends on your shoulder, the beer in your cheap red cup sloshes precariously when you whirl around to see a grinning Atsumu. 

“Don’t do that!” you snap, hand reaching out to whack Atsumu’s shoulder. He merely laughs in response, bending down to pluck your cup out of your hand as he downs the rest of its contents before mocking your pout with one of his own. 

“Come on pretty,” His hand lands on your waist, guiding you gently to the dance floor. “Why mope around when it’s a fucking party.” His sentence ends in a yell in your ear when the song thrums up in volume. 

He’s definitely tipsy, feet stumbling over each other, utterly unlike the usual Atsumu you know who held himself with pride. But the roguish curve of his lips remain familiar, the mischievous glint in his amber eyes that promised nothing but excitement and thrill. 

You feel your answering grin forming as you follow him, dodging the occasional arm and leg. What’s the harm in indulging a little? 

Warm fingers tighten around your hips as he pulls you flush against his back and you let your head fall back to rest against his chest, feeling the strong lines of his muscles rise and fall with each breath. It feels good, letting the alcohol in your system take control when you push your ass back to meet his crotch. 

“What a tease,” Atsumu chuckles into your ear, his hands guiding your hips to match his own rhythm until you can feel the brush of his arousal against your ass and a tickle of hair when his mouth latches on the exposed skin of your shoulder. You barely feel the brush of his teeth on your skin when he sucks hard enough to leave a faint mark, the booze effectively numbing your nerves as you mewl in response, pushing your body back to feel the sweet friction of his semi hard on through his jeans again. 

It’s wanton, grinding against him in open public but judging by the equally sexual actions around the two of you, no one seems to pay any mind. It’s not like Atsumu isn’t enjoying it too, his hand leaves you hips, trailing a slow heated path up to your chin where he tilts your face back to meet his darkened gaze. 

Did he always look this good? Lowered eyes glittering in the dark, the smooth roll of his honey skin in time to the music and those long pretty lashes that looked dusted with fine gold. 

You can feel your body responding to him already, arching closer to the warmth of his body like a flower bending towards the Sun with a soft whimper. He spins you around to face him, your head spinning dizzily for a moment before you wind your arms around his neck to pull him close enough that each breath wafts across your cheeks, making a rush of heat bloom between your legs. 

“We can’t” Atsumu growls against the side of your neck, his words are a stark contrast to the way he’s still holding your hips in a near bruising grip. Your little dress has ridden up so high under his touch that you’re probably flashing everyone in the party right now but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care (especially with the feeling of Atsumu’s calloused palm snug against the swell of your exposed ass) and you’re reminded that Suna Rintarou is his best friend. It was no secret that you used to have a … _thing_ with him. 

Maybe it was an unspoken rule that friends wouldn’t sleep with the same girls. 

“I’m not with him,” you murmur in response, fingers sneaking up his t-shirt to rub circles on his warm skin. Atsumu shudders at the touch, eyes simmering with clear lust though there’s still a tinge of hesitation mixed with the want. “I’m not.” You reassure him again with a breathy sigh, and his mouth opens to form a reply but the sudden pounding of bass drowns out his next words. 

You frown, motioning him to speak again.

“Your wish is my command,” Atsumu says, his words sending a delicious electrifying spark down your skin. You smile in return, nuzzling into his face. A part of you is surprised at your own fierce boldness, but there was no denying that you were attracted to his brash looks even without the help of the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your system. 

“Let’s go-” 

You’re yanked backwards, the sticky floor shifting under your shaky feet as your back collides against something hard. 

“ _What,_ are you doing?” 

Oh, you hate how you know the owner of the voice immediately. The familiar drawl of his voice betrayed only by the tightness of his tone that hints at his barely concealed rage. 

Annoyance rushes through you, “Get _off_ me,” you slur unconvincingly, palms pushing weakly against his chest but Suna’s grip merely tightens, his other hand moving to smooth the hem of your dress back down. 

“Atsumu fuck off.” A tense silence. “Osamu’s lookin for you outside.” 

“No!” You mumble, reaching out for the blonde before being jerked backwards. Through your blurry vision you see Atsumu shooting you a sly wink before he vanishes into the crowd with his hands up in mock surrender. 

“God,” you sigh irritatedly. “What is wrong with you?” 

Suna’s lips tightens into a pale angry line, dark clouds gathering like a storm in his eyes. You’re close enough that you can see the slight jump of his cheek muscle when he speaks. 

“ _Me?_ ” Even through the heavy music blaring loud enough that the pictures on the walls are shaking, his smooth voice rings loud and clear. 

“I’m not the one with her dress halfway off and letting Atsumu Miya feel me up in the middle of the dance floor.” 

“So?” You shrug, prying his fingers off your arm with icy determination despite the quiver of your breath at the skate of his touch.

“ _Fuck_ , hey.” Suna catches you by the shoulders and you blink blearily through the foggy haze of smoke in your brain before his face swims into focus. You can’t help but notice how tired he looks, the angles of his strong jaw seems harsher, narrowed eyes bloodshot and dark circles cling under them like he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. 

Why? You want to ask, why do you look so worn out? What’s troubling you? Your chest tightens convulsively, a reminder of what he’s done in the past. 

Even then he looks stupidly good, hopelessly lovely to the touch the same way as poisonous flowers would be. A stray lock falls over his eyes and you tear your stubborn gaze to his collarbone before the itch to brush it away arises. 

You know better than to confuse beauty with innocence and harmlessness. 

“You’re wasted,” he says, “I’m bringing you home.” 

You can’t help the bitter laugh at his words, now he’s caring for you? After ignoring you for a solid 3 weeks? After sleeping with half the female population on the campus? You swear that even his shirt smells like perfume. If you still had your darned cup you would’ve dumped the contents in his face. 

“No I’m _not_. I can’t take care of myself perfectly fine thank you.” You snap, shoulders vibrating with tension (or booze). “Besides,” the surge of rage from earlier floods your words with a bitter, sharp edge streaked with the intent to hurt. 

“Are you just trying to get into my pants?” You sneer, not missing the way he flinches at the poison oozing out of your mouth. “Was the girl you were feeling up earlier not enough?” 

Good, you think viciously, throw his own words back in his face. 

Much to your surprise, Suna reaches for you again and something in you cracks at the motion. Your brave facade shattering into little pieces when he approaches you. 

“ _Don’t,_ ” you raise your hands, feet wobbling backwards. “Don’t touch me Suna.” 

It’s too late. 

Without warning, his mouth came down on yours, the ice in your chest turning into liquid fire at the mere contact. You could feel the stiffness in your own body, the effort of holding back, of not pulling him against you but the feeling of his shirt fisted in your fingers indicates that you were already entangled with him, drawing him closer. Taking this chance was dangerous and stupid and unwise, but you wanted him. Wanted no one else but Suna Rintarou, jagged edges and all. 

His hands cup your face to deepen the kiss, delicate and careful. 

All the control you’d exerted disappears in a poof, Suna’s tongue flicked across your lips, opening your mouth under his, and he tasted so familiar. Sweet and bitter, the taste of regret and abandon. Your hands moved to his hair and you felt his own slide down the sides of your body to your waist, lost in the sensation of him. 

A sigh fills the heated moment and it takes you a beat too long before you realise that the dreamy sigh came from you. Suna’s lips curled against yours, the only soft thing about him and you hear a quiet hiss of laughter. 

Instantly, reality crashes back like a wave and you pull back with a sharp gasp, nearly stumbling back when the trembling palms of your hands connect against his hard chest in a push. 

_“You_ ,” your voice though shaky comes out steelier than you expected. “You have absolutely no right to do that.”

He knew that. Knew that he had absolutely no right to touch you, to crave you like the air that he breathes but he did anyway. The moment he put his mouth on yours, it was like falling all over again. 

This time, you don’t shy away when he tangles his fingers with yours, pulling you away from the bustling party to the quiet of the bathroom. It’s almost too quiet, the steady thud of bass throbbing in a muted distance that beats along with your heart. 

“Suna.” You begin before he cuts you off. 

“Rintarou, call me Rintarou or-“ he stops himself abruptly, inhaling sharply. Or _Rin,_ I want you to call me Rin like you used to. With that intoxicating smile and voice that has him wanting to tuck you against his chest. To keep you _his_. 

There had always been girls. He asked himself dead in the night, fingers hovering over his screen in a pitiful debate with himself if he should send you another message. What made you different? You were beautiful, but the others were beautiful too. Maybe it was your laugh, the way you slipped past his aloof nature when no one else did. Maybe it’s the way he wants to wake every morning with your body pressed against his when he rolls over, the same way he wants to end every night in your arms. 

It scared him. How you put him on his knees like he’s looking for a place of worship. 

That stubborn little crease between your brows appears, forming when you were thinking particularly hard or angry. Hopeless rage rose up in Suna’s chest at your silence, and as usual, found its escape in the form of a statement that he probably shouldn’t say. 

“Isn’t it exhausting?” 

“What?” There he goes again, settling back into the narrative of the sleazy frat boy. All traces of earlier vulnerability wiped clean like a blank slate. 

“I know you want me,” his arms cage you against the bathroom sink, his steady eyes holding you captive. “Atsumu Miya?” Suna’s voice is filled with thinly veiled disgust, lurching towards the line of uncontrollable anger. “I don’t think he’s _big_ enough to fill my shoes baby.” 

The imagery of your body against the blonde, his hands wandering all over your skin, has his fingers clenching harshly around the cool marble, jealousy pushing him closer to your surprised face until your noses are grazing. He _didn’t_ want to think of it, the possibility that Miya Atsumu would whisk you away filled him with murderous rage. If it had been any other guy, the scene earlier would’ve ended with his fist and a face. 

“I’m not fucking you,” you say tersely. But you want him, every nerve in your body screaming for his touch. 

There is long thick silence that crawls over the two of you before you realize that Suna isn’t looking at you. More accurately, he’s staring at the hickey on your shoulder now exposed under the yellow light. Strong hands push you backwards against the surface of the sink and Suna yanks the sleeve of your dress to the side with sudden ferocity.

A hand cradles your neck and he angles your head back to reveal the purple mark from the shadows in rough grip. As much as you hated the power he had over you, being able to manhandle you to his liking be it now or in bed, there was no denying the lust that crackles in the air at his actions. 

“He did that?” The sheer intensity of his smouldering gaze makes the mark blister uncomfortably against your skin. It was so unlike him, the predatory glint in his usually blank eyes. His bold movements earlier were also a stark contrast to the fact that Suna preferred keeping to himself amidst the safety of the shadows. 

“You let him mark your skin?” He asks, this time, the anger is replaced with white hot jealousy. 

Your tongue swipes across your bottom lip. “Is there a problem?”

You don’t understand do you? You’re _his_. His to mark, to claim, to touch. 

But Suna had never been good with words. And you never seemed to listen to him. 

“You want to know the problem?” Suna rasps, thumb grazing across the mark. “ _This dress_ ,” He pushes the thin straps of your party dress down, lips brushing across your heated skin with each growl. “Is the problem.” 

“Fuck, Suna- no.” You can hear your pulse thundering with the remaining strands of your wavering pride, unwanted heat creeping up the back of your neck to your face. 

Your hands fly up to push him away but he catches them in a single palm as he shimmies a leg between your thighs until the rough fabric of his jeans are pressed against your core, making you swallow a rising whimper. He’s always been more on the leaner side but you don’t miss the taunt, corded muscles of his stomach that flex each time you struggle against his grip and to him - a professional athlete in training, maybe your trashing really is nothing but a minor inconvenience. 

He ignores your protests, moving from your collarbone to your neck where he plants a trail of kisses upwards, “ _Your perfume_ ,” The rough graze of teeth against skin makes you yelp. “Is the problem.” 

“ _Your hair_ ,” Suna’s grip is anything but gentle when he yanks your head back, tangling his hand in your strands to lick the shell of your ear. Shame and arousal swirls in your belly, your protests dying down in your mouth. “Is the problem.” He breathes against your ear. 

“ _ **You**_ ,” He snarls, nostrils flaring, his mouth is twisted just the slightest bit upwards. “Are the problem.” You struggled to pull your face away, to put as much distance as possible between the heat in between your legs and him but Suna holds you firm, pressing you down until the sink edge digs painfully into your back, the rough pads of his fingers tilting your chin unyieldingly. 

Strong arms hoist you upwards onto the sink, his hands cupping your ass under the dress. “We can’t.” You whisper breathlessly even as he worms his body between your legs now forced wide apart, exposed. 

Just like you, Suna Rintarou never claimed to be an excellent listener. 

He has an iron grip on your legs, moving his hips back and forth to grind you through your panties as you feel his thickening erection swell under his jeans. “Fuck-” You gasp at the sensation, hands dipping under his shirt to trace along the planes of his sculpted chest and dragging it upwards until the fabric is discarded. 

Suna’s hand is heavy and possessive when it moves to cup your cunt, the earlier traces of frustration evident when he pushes the seat of your panties to the side with impatient urgency. Fingers - bold and thick slide along your entrance, gathering the slick before a groan tears from the both of you when he eases a digit in. 

“Ah, please,” Your voice comes out in the form of a breathy mewl. 

“I know,” his lips curl at your plea, knuckles grazing your clit. “Your dripping wet,” He punctuates his words with another finger before curling them in your tight heat, finding your sweet spot with far too much ease for your liking. 

Something in you melts when he crooks his fingers again, inching them a little deeper, making your head spin until you can barely think. Suna laughs at your expression, each stuttered little gasp falling from your open mouth has his hand tightening around your thigh to keep you still, to keep himself grounded. 

“Suna, oh, faster.” You whine, tears in the corner of your eyes and he snickers. “You need to speak up, can’t hear you over the sound of your pussy.”

“Fuck yo-you.” You gasp, fingernails raking across the broad expanse of his chest when he begins to press against your sweet spot, spreading you out to prep you for his cock as that mouth wateringly good pleasure begins its climb to its peak when Suna continues to curl his fingers buried deep in your cunt, unravelling your body under his touch with each movement. 

“I’m close, Suna, I’m gonna-” Your moans mixing together with the obscene sounds of your pussy like music to his ears. 

His fingers still, leaving your cunt entirely and you nearly wail in despair. Not before he swallows your complaints with his mouth, through your greedy kisses, you hear the familiar sound of a zip being yanked and frenzied shuffling as Suna frees his cock. 

You swear you get wetter, the mere sight of his hardened length drooling and slapping against the corded muscles of his belly when he nudges his boxers down. It’s languid, the way he breaks off the kiss to stroke himself with the hand dripping in your fluids, all the while making sure that you’re watching each slow pump from the curve of his tip leaking pre-cum all the way down to the base. 

God, you want him so badly. 

“If you aren’t gonna fuck me,” you say hoarsely, tearing your gaze to his face instead. “I’ll find someone who will.”

Suna doesn’t bat an eye at your empty threat. 

“Turn around come on,” You comply immediately, nearly falling down from your weak legs as you brace your hands against the sink, breath quickening with anticipation. Maybe tomorrow you’d look back on this moment full of regret but right now? All you wanted was your stolen orgasm back. 

The mere touch of his cock against your soaked folds has you keening, back arching when Suna begins to push himself in. “Fuck, relax.” He hisses under his breath, hands seeking their places around your waist to keep your from squirming when he inches forward.

It always burns when he takes you. No matter how many orgasms he gifts you, no matter how long he spreads you out beforehand and it’s hard not to enjoy how tight you feel. The sting of pain is always replaced of course, taken over by the euphoric satisfaction of being stuffed so full with his cock. 

“Missed-missed this pussy _oh_ ,” Suna mutters under his breath, voice trailing off into a sinful gravelly moan when he finally bottoms out with each cruel inch and you find yourself leaning into the stretch, craving for the staggering feeling of his cock pressed so deep that it made your mind blank. 

He grits his teeth, letting you adjust to his size and his fingers close around harshly on your soft skin so savagely that he may scorch an imprint on them. You choke back a moan, the sensation of him throbbing in you making it hard to speak until you meet his heated gaze through the mirror. 

He can’t help it, it’s been weeks since he managed to touch you, fuck you, kiss you. Suna draws back, making sure you feel each torturous slide and ridge of his veins sliding against your velvety walls before sliding forward. He pulls you against his chest, hooking an arm behind your knee to lift it up leaving you balancing on the other trembling leg as you’re forced to lean back against him. 

The mirror makes it all the more lewd when Suna begins to snap his hips forward, reflecting the sinful ring of murky white coating the both of you each time he draws out of your greedy cunt, the way your pussy is spread open on his cock, the steady pistoning of his hips against your ass, the savage clench of Suna’s hands splayed across the meat of your thigh, _everything_. That dazed out expression on your pretty face, head lolling limp against his chest merely spurs him on. 

His eyes narrow into bright slits, voice barely audible each slap of skin against skin. “Look at you, creaming around my cock.” It’s embarrassing, how you’re trying to meet him thrust for thrust, trying to feel more of him when you ground down in time to each time his length brushes all the sensitive spots in you. “Does Miya know how you like it?” He hisses, “Does he know how to fuck you like I do?” 

You want to reply, you really do. To hit him back with a snarky reply of your own but it’s hard to even think straight, instead your eager body is too busy trying keep up with the pleasure each time he drives into you. 

Suna’s next thrust bumps up into your cervix, forcing a kittenish mewl out of your lips and turning your body into putty in his arms. _Fuck_ , it’s like your trying to pull him in, deep into your intoxicating tightness, Suna can feel his own rhythms getting sloppier each time the wave of pleasure rises. It was always dangerously easy to come undone whenever it came to you. 

He isn’t sure whether he hates it or loves it. 

The pressure of your pussy fluttering convulsively around his cock nearly makes him drop your leg, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sensation. He swears under his breath, a positively feral look crossing his face when you manage to catch a blurry glimpse of it through half lidded eyes “Look at you, fuck- squeezing so tight, this messy little pussy dripping all over my cock.” 

You feel too hot all over, flushed, your climax climbing to its peak when the tip of his cock brushes against the sweet spot in your pussy, pushing against the plush resistance. Another rough snap that stretches you out has you crying, “ _Rin,_ Rin, I- I’m cumming!” 

The sound of his name, high and sweet, coming out from your lips is his undoing. Paired with the way your cunt holds him in tight when you come, as if you were trying to milk him dry. With a grunt, he pushes you back on the sink, grabbing your hips and fucking the last few pumps of his cock into your abused cunt ferociously. Even when you protest weakly, even when he _knows_ your especially sensitive after coming, Suna pins you down, making sure that you feel each shiver and spurt of his cum into your body. 

“Fuck,” Suna whispers against your heaving shoulder, relishing the warmth of your cunt for a few lingering moments before peeling himself away from your body reluctantly. His touch caressing over your skin just for another few selfish seconds before Suna forces himself to pull away. 

There’s nothing soft nor gentle when reality sinks in. 

Instead, you wince when you prop yourself up to shimmy your dress back on, trying to ignore the feeling of his cum trickling between your thighs. Suna is already dressed when you manage to catch your breath, looking at you with an emotion in his eyes that you can’t place. 

It looks like you’re back to square one. 


End file.
